


Harry Potter and the Bad 7th Year Fic

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-10
Updated: 2007-04-10
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: The fan fiction universe if full of horrible stories filled with romance, drama and even slash. Here is a story poking fun at the worst that fan fiction writers chrun out about Harry Potter.





	Harry Potter and the Bad 7th Year Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Harry Potter was full of painful angst following the death of his headmaster and mentor Albus Dumbledore. Despite the fact that the old fool had never actually coached him in Defence Against the Dark Arts (Harry did not know any of the spells that Dumbledore used to repel evil, slit-eyed Lord Voldemort at the Ministry of Magic), Harry still mourned the great, noble, wise man. Even though they had wasted an entire year of so-called ‘tutorials’ watching vague memories about the once handsome but now totally evil, slit-eyed, OMG-he-is-ugly Lord Voldemort, Harry still thought the sun shone out of Albus Dumbledore’s now deceased arse. It did not occur to Harry’s underdeveloped brain that the old fool and been completely off his rocker and could have spent the time teaching him how to defeat the greatest Dark Lord ever.

  
And now the mighty Albus Dumbledore was dead. Murdered, by none other than the intensely hated Housemaster of Slytherin, Severus Snape. But, as half of the fan fiction community thinks Snape is wonderful, this author will cover all bases and conclude that Snape was actually still doing his duty for the Order of the Phoenix. It had all been a part of Albus Dumbledore’s master plan. Yet more evidence that the deceased old fart had lost his marbles. But Harry, blind to Dumbledore’s obvious weakness, could do nothing but brood about nasty, horrible, murderous, worse-than-Peter-Pettigrew-but-not-really-because-that-slimeball-killed-my-parents Severus Snape.

  
So, Harry spent his entire summer brooding about Snape and a dead Dumbledore and the fact that Ginny had forgotten to write to him (the slut was too busy shagging everyone from Fred to Draco to spare a thought about Harry, who had so cruelly dumped her at a funeral). Harry was tormented by Dudley; newly crowned Heavyweight Champion of Britain (the author forgets that Dudley is only seventeen). Not to mention nasty, hideous Aunt Petunia, and her even nastier lump of a husband, Uncle Vernon. So, Harry stayed in his room and brooded. And brooded some more. He brooded so much that his snowy white owl Hedwig left him for another man. Evil, slit-eyed Lord Voldemort was pleased to have a new snowy owl and promptly had his newly enslaved house-elf Dobby cook the bird and serve it at Voldemort’s exclusive dinner for his Death Eater friends. Lucius Malfoy, now partly forgiven because he had managed to bribe the guards at Azkaban to release him and the rest of the imprisoned Death Eaters, was heard to comment, “Potter’s bird has a rare flavour, your Dark Lordship, sir, and I commend your house-elf”.

  
“Indeed,” evil, slit-eyed Lord Voldemort said, and summoned Dobby for the Death Eaters’ post-meal entertainment. Lord Voldemort said, “in punishment for subjecting all of the Muggle children of the world to one of the worst digitally created characters in the history of film, I sentence you to an evening of being _crucio_ -ed.”

  
So, the Death Eaters spent a fun evening _crucio_ -ing Dobby until evil, slit-eyed Lord Voldemort (he was soooo evil, OMG), got bored and _Avada Kedvara-_ ed the stupid elf into oblivion.

  
But I digress. We return to Harry’s hovel of a room at the nasty Dursleys house, where he was busy brooding again. It was like Order of the Phoenix all over again, except this time Harry did not have Dumbledore’s office to trash. And with his seventeenth birthday just minutes away, Harry did not have long to stay at Number Four, Privet Drive.

  
“Harry, we’ve come to rescue you,” said the familiar, stern voice of stately Professor McGonagall. Harry looked out of his window and saw a group of people standing on Aunt Petunia’s carefully pruned lawn. Harry threw his trunk out the window where it landed on Colin Creevey. He was killed instantly. The Minister of Magic forgave Harry because he was Harry Potter and now that Dumbledore was dead, people were going to take everything the deceased old fool said even more seriously. I mean, the man _was_ dead, but they still thought Harry was the apple of their eyes. Who was going to tell Mr. and Mrs. Creevey? Nobody! Not that it really mattered; Lord Voldemort and paid them a murderous little visit the previous day.

  
Harry looked around at his reception committee. Hermione and Ron had their lips locked around one another. _So, that’s why neither of them wrote to me,_ Harry thought. He could not understand why half of the Half-Blood Prince had sounded like a fan fiction, with JK Rowling writing in at least a dozen scenes of serious snogging. Harry that, _what’s next, sex?_ Sure enough, Hermione and Ron started going at it in one of Aunt Petunia’s flower beds.

  
“That is quite enough,” Professor McGonagall said with a sniff. Ten-thousand points to Gryffindor because this is a fan fiction and Gryffindor always get points. Ten-thousand more points to Gryffindor because I am the new Headmistress.”  
“We had better be on our way,” said Mad-Eye Moody, looking both mad and moody, just like Harry. Maybe it was because, with Dumbledore dead, Mad-Eye was the most mental person left in the Potter-verse.

  
Just then, Harry caught sight of a perfectly ordinary girl standing to the edge of the group of people. She had ordinary eyes and an ordinary figure. Incidentally, her name was Samantha Morton and she was a Muggle fan fiction writer who had written herself into her own story. So, being the author of her own tale, she was actually stunningly gorgeous, with flowing long, blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes that glinted in the moonlight, a dazzling smile and a body so hot you could have fried an omelette on her butt. Also, she was a Muggle who had been a witch all along, but her Hogwarts letter had gotten lost amidst her father’s bills sixteen years ago. Even though she had never been to wizarding school she was almost an auror because of her incredible natural ability. She was the greatest witch of her age. Eat that Hermione-we-all-hate-you-Emma-Watson-because-you-got-to-be-in-the Harry-Potter-movies-and-we-didn’t.

  
Harry’s stomach lurched. He felt dizzy. His heart pounded. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins. His throat was dry. Every clichéd romantic emotion was surging through his tumultuous mind. He ran out of his room and down the stairs, tore open the front door, ran over to Samantha Morton and fell to his knees.

  
“Oh, Samantha Morton, you are the greatest witch ever, and you are _so_ fine. Will you be mine?”

  
“Yes!” Samantha cried dramatically, falling sideways into Harry’s outstretched arms. The rest of the Order of the Phoenix stood by, smiling paternally or maternally down at dear Harry. Just like the fool Dumbledore, all they cared about was that the self-centered scar-head was happy. So they were completely taken by surprise when the Death Eaters appeared on Privet Drive on the stroke of Harry’s seventeenth birthday and started _Avada Kedavra-_ ing every member of the order in sight.

  
“Will you keep it down; I’m trying to make out with the love of my life!” Harry raged.      


“Never mind, my sweetie-pie,” Samantha said,” blinking up sweetly at the handsome face of her hot new boyfriend. “Come with me.”

  
And Samantha Morton apparated Harry; back to her Muggle school in California, where Harry became the New Kid on the Block with his grunge-goth fashion. Soon, every kid at school was wearing a tattoo of a scar on their foreheads and dressing in black. Harry Potter was safe in America because the Wizarding State was too powerful for Lord Voldemort and he did not dare cross the Atlantic. Harry and Samantha Potter got married and had lots of really sexy kids who went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and all became Head Boy or Head Girl.               
     

 


End file.
